


Team Folsom

by AnnetheCatDetective



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: ALL THE KINKS, BDSM, F/M, Folsom Street Fair, Kink, M/M, Other, San Francisco, Spy has friends, Tattoos, a literal sex machine, asexual Soldier, kink everywhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-15 08:54:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1298968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnetheCatDetective/pseuds/AnnetheCatDetective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(I could not quite come up with a clever title and settled for a pun)</p><p>For Hannah, who gave me an idea (who has, in fact, given me many ideas). Happy birthday.</p><p>A scattering of mercenaries from across two teams wind up at the same leather/kink festival. Fun ensues. I, of course, begin with Spy...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue- Spy's Arrival

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hannah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannah/gifts).



"Uncle Hugo!"

 

The Spy grinned, slipping effortlessly through the crowd to take the young woman's hand. She was aware that his name was not Hugo-- she had selected it for him herself. He was as certain as he was about anything that her parents did not name her 'Ada', but he liked that they were even. He didn't need to track down the 'real' one, if any name but Ada could be said to be her real name. He hoped he never did.

 

"Cherie." He dropped a perfunctory kiss to her knuckles. "I thought I would be calling on you later, taking you to dinner in some nice restaurant far away from all of this. To what do I owe this surprise?"

 

"We're modeling, for a friend." She indicated two young men, standing a few feet away and wearing an array of leather straps more revealing than her own outfit. By the general dress code of the street, she was modestly attired in a corset and shorts that barely were, and a pair of boots that the Spy thought looked painful. Then again, he was modestly attired himself. He wore a charcoal grey suit with a black balaclava and tie, and the suit stood out more than the mask did.

 

He liked that about the fair. That, and the opportunity to negotiate a night he might actually enjoy, something there was little chance of back around Teufort.

 

And the dining opportunities in The City, of course.

 

He looked over the two boys, draping themselves enticingly to either side of a booth. One definitely queer, but too young for him. The other...

 

"Is that one yours?"  He asked her, indicating. "He's new."

 

"He's not that new." She laughed. "You haven't been around, that's all. And he is."

 

"Well... I suppose I approve of the selection. He looks like he'll age well, if aging with someone interests the both of you. You, of course, will be a terrible beauty your whole life. It's the burden you'll bear."

 

"I'll manage."

 

He smiled. "Just remember what I've taught you. And if you have children--"

 

"We won't."

 

"Name one after me."

 

She leaned towards him, her hands on her hips. "I'll name a dog after you."

 

"Oh, _please_. A cat."

 

"Goldfish."

 

"Parrot. I won't go lower than parrot." He shook his head. They shared a laugh, and he leaned in as well, giving her a swift hug. "Remember everything I taught you and you will be more than all right. And make it a cat. I will call on you for a nice dinner out, we'll take your young man with us, he looks underfed. Before I leave. Maybe not tonight, I am hoping to arrange my own company for tonight. But before I go."

 

She kissed his cheek and nodded, drifting back to the booth and the boys, where another female model eventually joined them, fresh from passing out business cards. The Spy took one, slipping it into a silver case, engraved to match the disguise kit.

 

Ada was a mild surprise. He hadn't expected to meet anyone he knew. Still, she wasn't an unpleasant one, or a dangerous one. And if her proclivities were in line with his own, then he supposed he couldn't really call it a surprise to find her there, regardless of whether she was doing a favor for a friend-- or a job for one-- or not.

 

He looked over the milling crowds, immediately discounting some men as prospects-- too big, too old, too young, too not what he was looking for. None of them were inherently unpleasant to look at. Even the women were something to look at, just not what he was looking _for_. He picked up a few more business cards, and accepted a few phone numbers he didn't think he would call. It didn't hurt to accept them, was nice to have a couple of possibilities as long as he was in town. Men he wouldn't mind a night with, if he never found that mythical Ideal. He doubted he'd let any of them tie him up, but then, it wasn't as though he couldn't get out of anything, if he had to. If he couldn't find anyone he could trust, he could always trust himself. It just wasn't the same when he had to keep his wits enough about him to think escape routes, to worm out of whatever bonds he decided he didn't want to be in. There was no point in getting tied up, outside of pleasing a partner, when he couldn't enjoy it. And there was little point in doing something to please a stranger if it didn't please him as well.

 

A steady fling would be a good thing to find-- someone who would be amenable to the same things, who he could work up a limited trust with over the course of a few visits. Not a relationship... it was hard enough for him to find someone to meet his necessary criteria for a fling, someone he could actually have a relationship would be... Well, it would be asking a lot. But someone he could meet, two or three times a year... someone who wouldn't be tied down to him when he went where the company sent him, and who he wouldn't be tied to, someone who couldn't be used against him by his enemies, but someone he could get to know enough to have a good time with...

 

It was still a tall order, but he didn't think it was an unreasonable one.

 

He was looking over booths instead of people-- still aware of everyone, of their places and his in the crowd, but with his focus on the merchandise, and the question in his mind of how much he could do for himself, when he reached a table full of military surplus items, and a real surprise.

 

"That's a fine uniform, son! I bet you see a lot of action!"

 

The Spy's eyes snapped up at the familiar voice, focusing in on what had previously been an anonymous body in the crowd.

 

"Oh, I'm always looking for action." The young man behind the table flirted.

 

His tone flew right over the Soldier's helmet. "Now that's what I like to hear!"

 

"Oh, don't go trading any war stories without me!" The RED Demoman appeared, from out of a nearby knot of people, dragging the Soldier back from the table a few steps, and freezing when he caught sight of the Spy.

 

"Tavish! I was just looking at these boots. I, uh... I thought they'd-- I mean, what do you think?"

 

"They're nice. No, I think you should get them." He nodded, still staring at the Spy. The Soldier turned, adopting a similar expression, the two standing side by side awkwardly and facing him.

 

"So... which one is he?" The Soldier whispered, not quietly enough.

 

"Soldier. I didn't expect to run into a coworker." The Spy greeted him smoothly, ignoring the question. "Or your friend."

 

"Ah. Good to see you, Private!" He relaxed into a grin, slapping the Spy on the back. "Here to check out the merchandise?"

 

"Something like that." 

"Doe, you go on and buy those boots you were looking at. We'll play nice." The Demoman prompted, drawing the Spy away a few steps. "Look... he doesn't know. What all this is, I mean."

 

"No, I gathered."

 

"I knew there'd be some old surplus uniform stuff available he could keep busy with. And we'd go bar hopping after, places he'd be comfortable. I mean, we're not-- He's not-- Truce, right? You don't want him finding out, either."

 

"I'm interested to know what you're doing here. There are other places to find military surplus goods." The Spy raised an eyebrow.

 

"I heard it might be a good place to get a tattoo." He shrugged. "I mean, I figured we'd hit the city and I'd find a place and we'd hit a bar where we wouldn't stand out so bad... far enough from everything no one'd know who we were, and in a big city like this one we'd find places we could both just... go. And fit in. Bar full of army blokes, usually good for that sort of thing. And once we were here and I did some asking around, it came up. And Doe loves it, bless him. No idea it's smutty, he's just having a ball saluting everyone in uniform. Don't think he's noticed some of those uniforms are only half there."

 

"He hasn't noticed all the freaks in leather?" The Spy's other eyebrow climbed to meet the first.

 

"He thinks that's just what San Francisco is like." The Demoman scoffed. "And he's glad there are no hippies around. That's all he was worried about, too many hippies. Promised him we'd avoid all that. Anyway, _you're_ here. So I shouldn't have to explain _myself_."

 

"Oh, I am just here for the freaks in leather." The Spy chuckled. "I like the whole city. But there are not so many places where I can walk around in a mask and not garner too many weird looks."

 

"Oh. Yeah. That's what Pyro said, too."

 

After running into the Soldier of all people, Spy didn't think even that could shock him.


	2. Doctor Feelgood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Medic is utterly in his element, but Heavy has a little problem.
> 
> Medic, of course, is there to fix it.

Medic harrumphed to himself a few times, in getting set up for his demonstration, though there was no real irritation in it.

 

He'd seen half the team already that day-- if there was one thing he was irritated over, it was that every time he tried to invite them to come around when his demonstration would be up, they interrupted to say they'd rather not know. They all _ran_ , actually.

 

Medical safety and responsibility was such an important topic, too. With the sort of glee they took in dismembering the BLU team during the working week, they couldn't be squeamish about something as relatively minor as aftercare for rough play. After all, they were all at the fair themselves.

 

Well... he supposed he could understand, if they didn't want to think about their doctor in a sexual light, even if his demonstration wasn't bound to be the sexiest. He could respect that. He was just glad he wasn't dressed too differently from his work uniform-- just wearing the nice boots, the ones he didn't want to risk scuffing and muddying up on the field, and his nicest hat. And, of course, he had a riding crop hanging from his belt, but he _needed_ that. He wouldn't have anything to demonstrate the proper care _for_ if he didn't do a little damage first.

 

And, of course, the stockings underneath, but the team didn't need to know that.

 

Heavy had wandered off after the real lifting was done, to let him work in peace on preparing everything else, had had his blessing to go look around, and to tell him about anything they ought to go look at together after. He'd been a magnificent sight striding off through the crowd-- dressed in his own uniform from the waist down, and nothing from the waist up, with people parting around him to let him through while he paid them little mind, his expression serene and thoughtful in the face of all the varied perversions on display. It had been something of a distraction, until he'd gotten far enough off that he was merely a head and shoulders above the crowd, details lost.

 

The placid expression, while handsome-- perfect as any statue, Medic thought-- was a pity, in that it gave nothing away. From where he was setting up, Medic couldn't see nearly enough of the varied perversions, and he was really keen to, once he was not so busy.

 

He was absorbed in getting every detail right, making sure all his implements were laid out precisely where he would want them and in perfect straight lines, when Heavy shuffled back over, 'placid' replaced with 'perturbed'.

 

"Doktor... Am having problem with baby men trying to flirt with me."

 

"Oh?" Medic looked up, amused. "How many?"

 

"Too many." Heavy frowned, folding his arms across his chest. "And... with much _simpering_. This is not attractive to me. Always dropping little hints and wanting things. Is not even real offer to turn down, just making eyes."

 

"They must think you are dominant." Medic shrugged.

 

Heavy threw his head back, with one loud bark of a laugh, before pointing to someone in the nearby crowd. "YOU! Little man-- This is Doktor. I do what Doktor says."

 

"Oh, no need to crush the boy's heart." Medic smiled, reaching up to lay a hand on Heavy's jaw. "He can look, as long as he doesn't touch, can't he? After all, you are such a magnificent specimen, mein kuschelbar."

 

Heavy gave a shrug of acknowledgement. "Is true."

 

"Good." He smiled. "Come up on stage for me, we'll start soon. Everyone will be looking then, after all."

 

'Stage' was a generous word, and to be fair, it was best he not be up where the crowd wouldn't have a nice, intimate look. It wasn't quite the lecture hall, but he felt comfortable. There was a young man down front and center of the gathering audience who wouldn't have looked out of place at a medical school lecture-- or a family reunion, if Medic had family to speak of who would host one. He was even ready to take notes. He felt a little swell of pride at that, and he hadn't even begun. If mercenary work wasn't such fun-- and if he was not still a wanted man across three continents, though he couldn't see how the grave-robbing was such a serious crime, it wasn't like stealing a living man's skeleton! By all rights it should have been two continents, tops, but then he supposed RED had gotten him out of his trouble when it came to the states-- he thought he'd have liked teaching.

 

The quiet obedience, the fear, the throngs of young minds eager to sit and listen and learn as he held their futures in his hands... It was a nice thought, but he told himself he'd miss the adrenaline rush of field medicine and the fun of surgery.

 

And anyway, he got obedience from Heavy, and fear from the BLU team.

 

"Don't worry." He greeted the crowd, as he brought the riding crop down into the palm of one gloved hand with a loud smack. "You can trust me. I'm a _doctor_."

 

The chuckles from his audience were cut short, when he whirled on his heel and brought it down across Heavy's back next, replaced with appreciative murmurs-- some, he liked to think, for his technique. Most were likely for Heavy, who didn't even flinch. He knew that that perfect calm was back in place, they'd done it in front of a mirror before and he knew exactly how much the man could take before he would register even the slightest discomfort.

 

He'd once complained of the itch from a trickle of sweat with no mention of pain. It had been blood.

 

"Let's start with bruising-- I know, I know, they're lovely. What is the point without them? But sometimes it's necessary to see that they heal faster, or to keep an ill-placed one from being too visible." He said, bringing the crop down every time he paused, either for breath or for effect, and delivering a few extra where he could. "So humor me, hm? All right, kuschelbar, turn around and show everyone my handiwork."

 

Heavy turned.

 

"Those in the back must have trouble seeing-- these are only starting to form. I can promise you, they will turn a nice dark purple with a little edge of green if I let them, but I am going to treat these while they're fresh. This is just an arnica gel." He held up a small tub, before applying the contents to one faint red welt. "It works quickly, compared to some remedies-- I prefer it to ice, though my assistant is never bothered by cold. It is very hard to bother him, which makes him the ideal assistant. If I tire out before I am done, I may need to bring up a nice strong man to take over dealing the damage."

 

He chuckled, caressing Heavy gently as he applied the gel.

 

"I should mention, a gentle massage shouldn't hurt. Tenderness is to be expected, especially when a bruise is fresh-- you will probably be dealing with bruises not quite this fresh, however, and applying a topical should not cause real pain. If it does, that may be a sign you need to see a doctor. Of course, we always know when you didn't fall down the stairs..." He laughed. "But a few of us can be understanding. Better to be safe and embarrassed than sorry!"

 

He set the arnica aside and changed gloves, before picking up a bottle and pouring a green liquid gel onto two fingers.

 

"Now, of course you may not keep arnica on hand. But, if you have aloe for sunburns, it is effective for bruising!" He explained, applying it to the next of the welts. "This is going to be fun-- later we will see which of these little remedies is most effective when these darken. I will leave one for control."

 

Once he was done with the aloe, he picked up a zip-top bag, pulling a used teabag from it. "And if you don't have either of those on hand, here is a little surprise. A teabag is better than slapping a raw steak down on a bruise-- especially if there may be broken skin, oh, don't get me started. Besides, who wants to waste a steak?! The teabag is already used up! Of course, it is much smaller, but that is all right, for just this little spot, I'm going to press it gently to the bruise a minute or so. I find it particularly handy, I already have the tea on hand. I like to make us both a cup when we are done for the night. Just a nice little routine. Cozy."

 

Medic smiled at that. 'Cozy' was not the word that would spring to most minds, on seeing them. Him, with the riding crop and white coat, and with even the most willing of victims... no, maybe it did not read as 'cozy' to anyone else. But it was cozy to him, and it was cozy to Heavy, to lounge in bed together, Heavy freshly put-together after whatever damage he'd absorbed in play, sipping slowly at a cup of hot tea and smiling, soft and unguarded, while Medic stroked his broad chest and belly, and his big arms, and told him how lovely he was, how beautiful and how invincible and how loved.

 

"Now." He set everything back in its proper place and motioned for Heavy to take a seat on the chair he'd had sitting in wait. He rolled his tray over and tore open the sterile packaging for a brand new scalpel. "Who is interested in sutures? Don't be shy, come closer so you can see. We'll go over how to do them first, for anyone who is interested, and then I will talk about how to care for them while they heal, for anyone who needs to know."

 

The chair put Heavy down where Medic could easily drop a kiss to his cheek, before carving a nice shallow line across his chest. He was a little too quick, in stitching it up, and had to make a second cut so that he could slow it down for his audience, talking them through the whole process, through the sutures themselves and the cleaning up of blood.

 

"Isn't he good?" He cooed, when he'd wiped everything clean and changed back to his first, unbloodied pair of gloves. "So stoic. I would have to be halfway inside him to get a reaction!"

 

"Doktor, not in public." Heavy joked, his stage whisper a low rumble.

 

Medic laughed and pinched his cheek. "He doesn't like to react, but he loves it. You feel alive, don't you?"

 

Heavy nodded, a brief flash of something fond and private on his face when he looked at the other man. There weren't many things that could bother him, when it came to pain-- he could be cut into, or beaten, or shot, and face it happily. Broken bones were the only thing that the Medic had ever seen faze him, and even when he was being overhealed, going off a roof or bridge was the one thing on the field he would howl over. Not that Medic could blame him, there was something sickening about the crunch of legs breaking during a rough landing, and Heavy was not built to land lightly. Any other damage and he could die laughing, and that was one of those things that Medic loved. He was strong. _Durable_. So very impressive. 

 

And so very patient a patient.


	3. Blindfolds, Masks, Hoods... and the Sex Machine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spy is far from the only masked attendee. It's part of the draw-- or it was, before he saw who else was in attendance. 
> 
> Soldier is far from the only person with an opinion on military surplus goods, for that matter.
> 
> And Scout is a long way from home.
> 
> (also there is a literal sex machine)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait-- I've been having a lot of computer issues and they've proved a big setback in being able to get any writing/editing/posting done!
> 
> In this chapter, the RED Pyro is Hannah's-- or as close to Hannah's as I could approximate, though I didn't delve into the physical descriptions. The BLU Pyro I imagine as my own headcanon Pyro, but I stay vague enough that you could really imagine many different things going on there.

"The M-61 is better." 

 

Scout snorted and tugged at her sleeve. "Py, you're... you are the only person here who cares how they _work_. Can we _go_? The Doc just invited me to his 'demonstration' and I wanna keep my liver, okay?"

 

She raised an eyebrow, and though he couldn't see it, her mask pushed up high enough to free her mouth to talk clearly but still covering most of her face, he fell quiet. He pulled away with a cough and tried to find something he could look at, that would neither invite a goggling stare or a horrified cringe. There was not a lot of middle ground.

 

"I don't remember asking you along, so you can go whenever you want. How'd you even get here?"

 

"Demo said he was going up to the city with a friend, and I said well if I could get a ride and all, that'd be cool, and he said sure but then they were heading somewhere this morning, and I figured I'd-- Like, not follow 'em and shit, not like... not like sneaky-- not like something Spy'd pull or nothing, I just never been and I didn't know you were here." He injected a little accusation into the rambling sentence, but it fell flat. "I didn't know he was taking this guy to the pervert parade, okay?"

 

"So go down to Fisherman's Wharf and be a fucking tourist. I didn't know Demo was here."

 

"Yeah, now I'm sorry I know Demo's here, and Medic and Heavy-- geez, can you imagine the sick shit the Doc's into?"

 

"Scout." She cut him off, with a gentle shove to the chest. "If it bugs you, just go, okay?"

 

"No, it doesn't _bug_ me. I mean, hell, lot of shit doesn't bug me. I just didn't think I was going to see fucking Medic here, you know? Some things I didn't need to know. And Demo, I mean, you know who he's here with, right? You can't tell me _that_ doesn't bug you a little. But it doesn't _bug_ me if people wanna, I don't know, if they wanna do whatever, that's not my business but strangers having kinky sex doesn't _bug_ me." He waved a hand, looking around at the crowd and then carefully down at the table full of gas masks. "So what are you doing here?"

 

"Pervert parade stuff." She tugged the mask off and rolled her eyes. "I'm unloading a couple old masks on a guy supposed to meet me here five minutes ago, except he didn't and his assistant 'doesn't feel comfortable' or some shit. Mann Co. sent that new one and I got a couple I haven't used since. At this point I don't care if he wants to rip me off or not, I just want to unload 'em. Not like I can't afford to take a loss and I didn't pay for two out of three of 'em anyway, company never wants 'em back. Besides, it's a nice atmosphere. You don't get a nice atmosphere trying to sell to military nuts-- you would, maybe. They'd try and cheat you if they thought you was a vet's kid but not if they thought you went to 'Nam. Maybe. Some of 'em would and some of 'em wouldn't, but that's you, and you're not a woman."

 

Scout had never considered this. He was having a hard time considering it, and a part of him wanted to just not consider it, because if he was considering it, he'd be expected to say something, wouldn't he? He had no idea what to say to that. She'd saved his life on Tuesday, died, and come back five minutes later to save it again. It hadn't been a great day for him, but it had been a damn good day for her. It was difficult to picture her striding into a military store and not being immediately recognized as battle-hardened, as someone you would not want to cross. 

 

"None of the guys think of you as a woman. We didn't know for like two whole weeks. Wait, I said that really wrong."

 

She laughed. "Yeah, you did. Forget about it. But it's nice being not the only woman in fifty miles. It's nice being out where half the women are walking around half naked anyway and no one's making fucking value judgements and everyone's having a good time and they're still buying and selling and if you're getting treated like a piece of meat or an animal or the fucking furniture it's because that's your thing. It's nice when half the people here look like freaks because they want to, it's nice not sticking out. It's just nice. Hey..."

 

"Hey what?"

 

"I'm sick of getting blown off, c'mon. We're going to go grab a beer and then we're going to the piercing tent."

 

Scout laughed. "What, you gonna get your ears pierced?"

 

"No, I'm gonna get your ears pierced." She elbowed him, and he laughed again, stopping short at the thought that she might have been serious.

 

They walked past the BLU Spy without even noticing him-- and considering their nine-to-five occupations, he was grateful for that. They'd narrowly missed running into RED's Demoman with BLU's Soldier, the both of them heading for the table that Pyro had just dragged the Scout from. They were holding onto each other, arms locked tight together, occasionally leaning heavily one into the other, and the Spy was expecting a boisterous greeting. 

 

When none came, he noticed that the Soldier had a blindfold on beneath his helmet. 

 

'And what is that', he mouthed.

 

The Demoman shrugged, eye wide. He let his friend feel out the objects on the table and moved a couple feet away. 

 

"Ooh! A Nokia M-61, wow! Haha, our little Pyro would LOVE this!"

 

"I didn't want the public sex bothering him, so I said we'd play a game and if he could identify a few things blindfolded he'd win."

 

The Spy raised his eyebrows. "How is that working out for you?"

 

"TAVISH, I HAVE DISCOVERED SOME UNFAMILIAR RIOT GEAR. I AM ONE HUNDRED PERCENT SURE THAT THIS IS A HIPPIE-SMACKING BATON BUT I DO NOT KNOW THE MAKE AND MODEL!"

 

"Oh fuck me, I thought I parked him away from the rubber cocks... All right, all right, lad, I'll give you the points for it. That's very good. Come on, drinks to celebrate!"

 

"I'd hate to be the man in charge of telling that poor baton maker what this baby is shaped like!" He laughed. 

 

The Spy slipped away, weaving through the crowd until yet another familiar voice halted him.

 

The patter was almost like a carnival barker's, but delivered slower, in a warm Texas drawl, and the little stage wasn't very high, was slightly raked so that no detail of the fantastic machine that filled it could go unseen. 

 

There were _attachments_. Everywhere. Padded seats and benches that looked like they would fit people in a number of positions, and the height of each was clearly adjustable.

 

He wasn't sure if the fact that it was his own team's Engineer made it better or worse. Granted, the last thing he wanted was to run into the RED Engineer and the RED Pyro, not in a place he'd considered a haven from work stress. Not on top of seeing Soldier with their Demoman, not on top of the enemy Heavy and Medic up the block doing something messy and unpleasant-looking.

 

He just wasn't sure how he was supposed to look the man in the eye Monday morning after seeing the device.

 

And then the Engineer introduced his Lovely Assistant, and the Spy knew. He also knew when it was best to make his exit.

 

The crowd was unable to determine the sex of the Lovely Assistant, or really, any other major defining features. There was a dress, yellow with little blue roses, but it was loose, on a thickset and pear-shaped body that was not necessarily female beneath, and it was hard to tell what was muscle and fat and what was a billow of cotton. There were bare gaps of arm between short sleeves and big gloves, and legs-- one with a light dusting of hair and the other smooth and scarred-- that ended in heavy boots. And lastly, there was the hood. It was lifted just high enough and just long enough for the Engineer to adjust a bright blue ball gag beneath, and then it was down again.

 

"You sure you're ready?" He asked, with a gentle smile.

 

"Hudda!" The figure flashed a thumbs up and nodded. The distorted voice was hoarse, low enough to be male, and yet there were few who wanted to take bets.

 

"That's my partner." He beamed, before turning to the crowd. "Now, I am under a contract that prevents me from servicing any commercial spaces, but I'll give my card to anyone with a private dungeon that can accommodate the All-In-One and maybe we can arrange something. Now, I wouldn't hook this baby up without a certified electrician, but it just so happens I qualify. I also would not sell the totally adjustable model you see before you as it is, I'm afraid some of the moving parts are not anything I'd recommend a layman play around with, you could perforate a colon easy with one wrong turn of the wrench. I'll demonstrate a couple configurations here today, but as a responsible engineer, I can only really sell a stripped-down version. This is one love machine that requires about two and a half PhDs to operate, son."

 

"Ffrhhmrhhshr."

 

"Sorry, I'm running long." He chuckled, moving to help the Pyro up to straddle one of the benches. He reached under the dress with a blushing apology, to help guide the attachment home, the Pyro holding onto the handlebar above as they worked to lower the Pyro down onto it. 

 

"Good?" The Engineer asked, and he was satisfied with the noise he got around the ball gag. "Good. I'm strapping you in now."

 

There were cuffs, thick padded leather, hanging from the bar above, and with a little adjusting, he was able to fit them over the gloves.

 

"There. Now if you get tired of hanging on you go ahead and let go, you'll stay right in place. Now..."

 

He moved down from the stage, to a control panel that stood near to the side of it, flicking a switch and then turning the large blue knob that dominated the panel.

 

The buzz was audible to the first row, as was the first little sound it choked from the Pyro, and the crowd watched the Pyro's back arch, watched the hands clench into fists, the body moving with the machine, and the display was strangely modest and intimate.

 

The Engineer turned the knob up another degree, and flipped a second switch. A second attachment set to vibrating, the buzz of it unmuffled, and the Engineer brought a volunteer up on stage.

 

"Now, they don't all do just the same thing, that'd be plum foolish of me from a design standpoint. This one," He gestured to the Pyro. "I call that one The Carousel-- goes up and down. This one's your standard model vibrator, go ahead, it's on level two now, you put your hand around it and tell me how that feels. That isn't going anywhere, the construction is solid on this baby."

 

His volunteer laughed, a nervous giggle, grinning out at the crowd with a hand wrapped around the vibrator. "That's two?"

 

"That's two. This one here," He indicated a third attachment. "This one rotates. And then we've got The Undulator."

 

"Can I see?" The question was half-whispered, with another giggle, and the Engineer nodded.

 

"Oh, they can all go at once. Never needed 'em to yet, but I made sure they all could. Never do a job halfway when you know you can do it right, that's number one. I never invent something halfway if I can help it."

 

He hopped back down and flipped a few more switches, the rest of the machine coming to life. It wasn't merely the various insertable attachments, but a paddle near one of the low benches that came down in perfectly-timed swats.

 

"Stand clear of that-- it's fully adjustable, and if I was installing this puppy for a client, you'd better believe I'd measure exactly where it needed to fall before putting it in place. Oh-- now don't touch The General, son, that's liable to tear you a-- That is not for beginners, nosiree."

 

He let a few others come, one at a time, up onto the stage to inspect the benches, the restraints, and the working attachments. They all kept a respectful distance from the Pyro-- the garbled sounds of pleasure from around the ball gag and the tossing of the hooded head were convincing enough.

 

The Engineer approached more than once, hands firm and gentle, offering support here, or a calming stroke there, and he offered whispered praise and encouragement as the Pyro heaved and rocked and rode out a highly public orgasm. The front of the dress was wet, though the skirt had ridden up and down enough, and the damp stain had enough to work through, that no one close enough to see it could even lay bets based on that fresh evidence. Even watching the Engineer's hands play over the Pyro's chest offered no answers. 

 

He kissed one shoulder, pulling the dress to the side enough to, and fixed it back into place.

 

"You want me to flip you back off for a spell, darlin'? Remember, we got five more demonstrations to work through today."

 

There was a pause, and a little nod, and he hopped down again to turn the machine off. "All right. I'll get you down and you can have a rest while I switch everything around. Lemonade's in the cooler 'round back of the stage, and if you can't get that gag off, I'll come and help you first. Fifteen minute break, folks, fifteen minutes. You go on and have a walk around, tell your friends, and business cards are on the table!"


	4. Cheap Dates and Sharp Objects

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spy's frustrated search for fun continues, while seemingly all around him there are mercenaries having good times with needles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter opens with Heavy and Medic, and while Medic's demonstrations stay tame, the reflections on the blurring of their personal and professional lives don't. I mean, Medic being elbow deep in Heavy's chest cavity is canon, so... (which is about as far as Heavy's recollections get. But since I usually don't hit canon-level guro I figured I'd give a little warning to the weak-stomached to just skim a little if you don't want to hear about organs today)

The medigun was not exactly approved for use off the field, and perhaps if RED knew, they'd have his head, but Medic liked to start his demonstrations with a fresh canvas, and so between crowds, he'd cleared up the bulk of the damage he'd done. That he did behind a curtain, and with no complaints. Heavy was used to the more efficient brand of medical aftercare-- it meant no difficult to explain marks that he hadn't had in the showers at the end of a working day, no matter how many cropped up between turning in at night and meeting the team in the morning.

 

It was an open secret, but they all clung to plausible deniability.

 

And after, with the high tech equipment locked up, he sat stock-still to let himself be opened up and put back together. The pain was barely enough to give him that rush of endorphins-- and without bullets flying, and with Medic's tender cooing, it all felt too safe for any real adrenaline. But every stitch as the Medic closed up long shallow slices of the scalpel felt like a tiny whispered word of love, and he loved to be the man that the Medic looked at. The care, and the admiration, and the constant mental measuring behind his eyes... it was praise in and of itself, to be looked at that way. To be loved for the conversations they had, and the battles they fought, and for all the damage his body could willingly absorb. In moments like these, it was the third that shone brightest. The determined gleam in Medic's eye and the sweat on his brow as he fought his own limitations to try and wring so much as a grunt of pain out of his Heavy, and the immediate sweetness once he succeeded, his lips grazing a shoulder or his fingers stroking a cheek, the apologetic question of whether it was too much.

 

Heavy doubted it could be, with everything he faced on a daily basis. Medic was fit for his age, and he knew what he was doing when it came to causing pain just as surely as he knew what to do to heal, but the Heavy's limits were hard ones to reach.

 

When they had finished demonstrating with the scalpel and the sutures for this fresh crowd, Heavy had four neat lines of stitches across his bare chest-- shaved, for the purposes of the demonstration, though Medic had tutted with disappointment even as he'd said it couldn't be helped. They met in the middle, over his sternum, forming an X, and it had felt somewhat unsatisfying to have only a few layers of skin sliced through when he had had his skin peeled back before, and muscle, when the very bones had been cracked open to allow for warm hands to cup and caress and measure his organs. Then again, he didn't want to share that with an audience. This was impersonal, when he considered all the intimacy they had, all the love and desire that had dripped from Medic's voice, when he had read back the weight of each thing carefully removed and reinserted, and said that he had never before had the pleasure of examining such a specimen. 

 

In Medic's voice, 'specimen' became a compliment-- at least, when applied to Heavy. When prefaced with words such as 'magnificent' and 'hearty'. His fetish was not for the trappings of his profession, nor for just any patient, but for this one alone who exceeded everything he thought he knew about the limits of the human body. This one who preferred mid-surgery chats to general anaesthesia and who offered him perfect obedience in the bedroom. And for Heavy, it was perfect. The heady rush of battle had confused pain and pleasure in him long ago, and it was not such a strange thing to take that pleasure from a lust for life to just plain lust. Not, at least, with Medic holding the riding crop.

 

Or the cane. Or the scalpel. Or the bonesaw. Heavy was not a picky man. There were other things as well, from time to time, and some nights it was an open palm and hard white teeth, and there was something about those nights, more personal and carnal. Like the surgical experiments, that was not for an audience.

 

"I want to keep this." He said, when the demonstration was over, when he was allowed again to speak as freely as he cared to.

 

Medic's eyebrows lifted, and he put the lock back on the trunk with his medigun. "Oh?"

 

"Since we meet... I have no new scars, from this. Every fight we are in is..." Heavy gestured, searching first for the words he wanted, and then for the best translation, and speaking slowly as he put them together. "Since coming to work for RED, is all erasable. I am proud of scars I have from battle. This is a story I have on my skin. Now in my memory, we have written many chapters as team. But there is no record of them to look back on. So this, one day, when I am old and my memory is not so good, I can say it stands for everything I have done with my Doktor."

 

"Oh... very well." Medic smiled, turning to fuss with his other equipment in an attempt to hide the sudden warmth. "It wouldn't do for you to walk around all healed after all of that, anyway. I'll have the Engineer re-set everyone's respawn data after the long weekend, and you can keep it. It's about time we updated it, anyway. And if you are a book, then I am glad to be included so prominently."

 

"Right across heart." Heavy nodded. The new one did take up more space, after all... it seemed about right, that the X that marked it was so expansive.

 

"Yes, well, that is only right as well, I gave you that heart. Come... we should go and find a little something to eat now that that's done. I must make sure you keep up your strength, I am buying new equipment and I want to be able to test it out."

 

They both chuckled, as the Heavy offered his arm and the Medic took it, to be escorted grandly down towards a small row of food trucks. 

 

On seeing them coming-- and who could miss the Heavy coming?-- the Spy moved away to slip into the nearest tent. It was a small mercy at at least the Heavy could be spotted head and shoulders above everyone else, and avoided, but it was more than a little frustrating to be looking for an amenable stranger, and to keep finding coworkers. Loosely-classed, he supposed he could call the REDs coworkers as well. It felt more genial than 'enemies', something they really only were on the field.

 

He finished his ice cream off quickly and took stock of where he'd placed himself and how necessary the exit would be. There was the scent of something antibacterial in the air, strong enough to filter through his mask, but no buzz of tattoo guns at work, no art on display to choose from, but a small selection of jewelry.

 

Piercing, then. Less interesting to watch than tattooing-- over too quickly to be spectated upon with any satisfaction, so he had to assume everyone else in the tent was waiting for their turn to patronize, and that meant he would want to make a quick exit. He wasn't terribly interested in doing anything even semi-permanent and removable to himself. Even with the relative security of his current job, there was something about making himself more recognizable that twisted uncomfortably in his gut.

 

He slipped out again, and ducked away quickly at the voice carrying well over the din of the nearby diners. RED's Heavy and Medic had been bad enough, but not surprising. Their Demoman's logic was a little strange, but even if he had no further motives, it was sounder than most of his logic on the field. But their Scout? That scrawny virgin? The mind rebelled!

 

Still, if the boy went through with the overheard plans for a tongue piercing-- and who had even planted such an idea in his head?-- then the Spy would laugh when he inevitably chipped his teeth on it in the middle of battle. Or when his tongue turned black and fell off, if there was mercy in the world yet. It would halve the hyperactive chatter that seemed so inescapable during the work week... and perhaps it was loyalty, though his mind rebelled at that thought as well, but he stood by the BLU Scout being the less annoying of the two.

 

He was having no real luck on his own with finding a suitable partner, and headed back towards where Ada was working. She was local, and employed at one of the booths, and even if she couldn't tell him where he would find a date-- and he wouldn't ask her-- she could tell him what points of interest were where, and it might at least save him time or trouble. Besides, it would be nice to have just a brief conversation with someone he wasn't afraid to be seen by. The work week was going to be awkward enough as it was, but he could trust that the RED Demo would keep his mouth shut out of his own embarrassment, if he didn't forget about it entirely after a bender.

 

The man in question was chatting with Ada when he arrived at her booth, the Soldier in tow, and he felt a stab of something-- not jealousy, and certainly not betrayal, for he'd never been in a position for either. But a violation of something, that people from the war could show up and talk to one of the few friends that he had, kept separate from his work life. 

 

He hung back until they left, and she laughed at him when he did slink up.

 

"I apologize for them, whatever the idiot in the helmet may have called you."

 

"I like your friend." She jerked her head towards the retreating Soldier.

  
"He's short a few marbles."

 

"Who isn't? He... he's nice. I mean, he's... It's nice. Sometimes. When a man who isn't queer doesn't stare at your tits. I told him my uncle was in the army and he retracted his statements about my being a godless hippie biker."

 

"Mm. Was it true?"

 

"I don't have an uncle. But... it seemed like the right thing to say." She shrugged.

 

"Being queer doesn't stop guys from staring at tits anyway." The other female model interjected. "It just means they get offended if you get offended if they grab them as a joke. Besides, guys can be queer and still like tits."

 

The Spy nodded, with a moue of agreement. "They have their charms. As do the women they are so frequently attached to, from time to time."

 

"They were looking for a tattoo artist. I steered them towards someone who could actually do what they wanted and make it look good. Did you come back to shop?"

 

"Do you get paid on commission?"

 

"I'm just eye candy, the boy in the fishnets is the salesclerk."

 

"To me, boys in fishnets are eye candy. You sell me something." He shook his head, smile warm. "Indulge an old man his whims, your salesclerk can help other customers."

 

Ada rolled her eyes, but it was with a little smile that told him he'd won the token argument. He could feel a couple of other people near enough, absorbed in looking over leather goods, and he was sure one of them would give the boy in the fishnets something to do.

 

"These." She picked up a pair of driving gloves, placing them in the Spy's hands, and he stripped off one of his own to try one on.

 

They were beautiful, the leather so thin he could do any delicate work on them. They were dyed a bright gold, and showed a little more skin than he generally liked, but it was nice to try something different on.

 

"Ah, my dear, the workmanship is lovely, but no... Just look at that, my skin is ghostly in that little window."

 

"These, then?"

 

The next pair she provided were quilted all across the backs, espresso brown, and she rolled her eyes again at his lengthy deliberation and slight frown.

 

"My shoes are all black." He sighed. "Brown and black? I couldn't."

 

"Why don't you own a pair of brown shoes?" She brought out another pair of dark brown gloves, accented with red, and he couldn't even explain to her why he wouldn't be able to buy those regardless.

 

He shrugged helplessly and she set the brown and red gloves down, giving him a long scrutinizing look before pulling out the perfect pair.

 

"These." He sighed. They'd be the envy of any spy in BLU's employ...

 

"They practically match your eyes."

 

"See, you were born to sell, it is far more than just being eye candy." He chuckled. "Set them aside for me while I look at these harnesses..."

 

The harnesses were definitely attractive-- he could have that feeling of restraint without the danger. Hell, if he couldn't find someone, he could don the harness in the privacy of his own hotel room and imagine his ideal, imagine his orders... he could pick up a new sex toy, something perhaps that he could suction cup to the wall and kneel before, as long as he was pretending. It wouldn't be the same, but he wouldn't feel cheated, either.

 

"Oh, those are beautiful. 'Scuse me, could I get a price on these?"

 

The Spy dropped the harness he'd been inspecting with a slight thunk and clank of hardware at _that_ voice. Did he even dare look? Did he want to know what the Sniper was interested in down the table?

 

He told himself that of course he did not, but his head was already turning.

 

It was the gloves, accented in red, and that told him _which_ Sniper, but he thought he'd known, really... there was a slight difference, listening to them. There was a slight difference as well looking at them, and he'd long considered it a shame that he had to go and prefer the RED, and long wondered if it was because the man was more attractive, or if it was because the color of his uniform suited him better, or if it was just because the BLU Sniper had never pinned him to the wall and threatened to gut him like an animal.

 

The things that triggered his libido were inconvenient at the best of times. More often than not, they were dangerous. It made for months-long stretches of a monastic existence while sexual frustration struggled against self preservation, and usually resulted in dalliances that were too safe to be satisfying.

 

And there was the Sniper, with his eyes lingering just a little too long on the boy in fishnets, and barely resting a moment on Ada or her scantly-clad fellow female model.

 

"The quality is something else, isn't it?" The Spy asked. He took a little pleasure out of the guilty look that flashed across the Sniper's face, but more out of the open and hungry curiosity that chased after it.

 

"Yeah. I've been looking for something for when the temperature drops."

 

"Mm. And here I am looking at things for when it heats up." He smirked, making a show of slowly turning back to the table and picking up the dropped harness. He kept the Sniper within his peripheral vision, tracing a fingertip along one strap, giving an O ring a good hard tug. "Also quality. Yes, I do like the craftsmanship."

 

"There some sheila somewhere you plan on strapping into that thing?"

 

"Monsieur, this was not made for women." The Spy sniffed, holding it up. It wasn't long before the mildly offended expression he wore melted into a far more inviting one. "And neither was I, though several have found me flexible."

 

"Flexible." The Sniper swallowed.

 

"Would you like to find me flexible?"

 

"That sounds like a dangerous idea."

 

"Ah, but that is the pity of it, I only like dangerous ideas."

 

"What else do you wear with that, then?" The Sniper sidled closer, reaching out to toy with one of the straps. "Maybe you'll convince me."

 

"Just the mask and gloves, unless you have a special request. Which I may entertain..."

 

The Sniper's gaze flickered back over to the boy in the fishnets, and the Spy grinned.

 

"Oh, I can find a pair like that, without any problem. And when I put them on, will you pin me to the wall? Throw me down on the bed?"

 

"Yes." The Sniper hissed. "You gonna fight me?"

 

"That sounds like a dangerous idea." The Spy laughed. "A little, if that's how you like it."

 

"Hm." He gave the Spy a little experimental shove back, from where they had wound up standing far too close. The Spy's pupils widened, and the Sniper licked his lips. "No... I want you to behave. My expectations are not high."

 

"Try me. I think you will find I can be trained. If I like the reward."

 

"Yeah? Because only good boys get to fuck me."

 

The Spy felt his knees buckle. Definitely a dangerous idea... but self-preservation was going to take a well-earned holiday.


	5. The Edwardian, the Motor Lodge, or the Van

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sniper and Spy discuss accommodations and more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I normally write Sniper on top, and as being much less sexually sure of himself than Spy, and usually as being deeply closeted, and only really opening up to that side of himself after the beginning of a relationship. For Hannah, though, I try my hand at sexually-competent-and-aggressive, I-pick-men-up-for-sex-when-I-want-to bottom Sniper.

They arranged to meet in an hour, back in front of Ada's booth, after they'd made their purchases there. After all, the Spy had promised fishnets.

 

He picked up a few other frills, while he was at it. It had never been his scene before, but he hardly minded indulging a kink, in exchange for having his own needs met, and if the Sniper wanted to tart him up in lace as well as leather, well... he said he was flexible. He could be whoever he needed to be, to get them both off. He drew the line at heels-- he could afford to drop that much money, to get them in his size, but it was the principle of the thing. To buy something like that just in case it would excite a fling, that was more than he was willing to do.

 

Still, by the time they met back up, between his new purchases and the things he'd packed and brought to his hotel room, he felt he had an impressive enough array, something to please any whim.

 

"Shall I be yours for the evening?" He smiled, slinking up to the Sniper's side. "I am prepared to be very, _very_ good."

 

"Yeah. Yeah. If you're good as you promise, anyway."

 

The Spy chuckled. He could see the moment of hesitation, and he couldn't fault the Sniper for it-- there were enough reasons not to go through with it, but the man knew how to smother his indecision quickly, before it could undo his control.

 

"We should make negotiations beforehand. If you haven't eaten, I happen to know a fantastic private dining room. Pricey, but I find it well worth it not to have to put up with other diners, and they put on a magnificent spread. We can split the bill and lay out what will and won't be allowed to happen, for both our sakes. Or if you have eaten, then I offer my hotel room for the negotiations. I prefer to nail things down before a bed is present, and on neutral ground, but I won't force you into a dinner. And The Edwardian is very nice."

 

"No. Shouldn't make it feel too much like a date." The Sniper agreed. "And this place you know's going to be too fancy for me. But you're right about neutral ground, reckon. Shouldn't bring you back to my van, either."

 

"Indeed not." He quirked an eyebrow, and smoothed it out again at a sharp look from the Sniper. "To keep me from being a personal thing only, of course. I have no objections tonight to your preferences."

 

"We could just head to the motor lodge. 'S not far, definitely not personal. Could walk there, easy. Hell, I might not mind giving you a lift if you'd rather." He paused when he noticed the Spy's posture, the way he tightened up all over. "Thought you had no objections?"

 

"I have never done any reconnaissance at this motor lodge, but if it is the one I have heard rumors of, then security is an issue to me, that is all."

 

"So doing it in the back of a club's a no-go, then?"

 

The Spy coughed and spluttered. There were, technically, decency laws. There were plenty of places where they were not policed, if you knew where to look. The Spy knew where to look, but it was something of a revelation to know that the Sniper did as well.

 

"Negotiations first, someplace secure. After that, I will give you the reins." He allowed. "I suggest we talk at my hotel room. You may peruse some of my things, and decide what I will bring, if you decide you wish to have me somewhere else. And if you want me in a public place..." He tapped his chin, considering. "Not tonight. I will need to be convinced I would be safe. I will need to know how you handle yourself, with me in your keeping. But, if you are serious, and if you impress me, there are things I will say no to tonight, that I may say yes to before the weekend is over. If you wish for this arrangement to last the weekend."

 

"If you impress me, I just might."

 

They picked up coffee, hot in cardboard cups, on the way to The Edwardian, and shared a laugh when they commented in unison about finally having a decent cup. Perhaps it was dangerous to have even that in common, but the Spy found he was glad they did. He was used to being dismissed as needlessly picky by his team, and when he'd rhapsodized to Ada about coffee in the city in the past, she had agreed, but she'd agreed like a civilian. She had access to good coffee, to good food... to so much, always, and he couldn't even describe to her the dismal offerings in Teufort, or any of the more remote bases.

 

The Sniper was less than easy, about accompanying the Spy up to his hotel room-- The Edwardian was friendly enough, no one took much notice of him sneaking in after the other man, but the place was clean, fussy.

 

Fancy, he supposed. It suited the Spy perfectly, but it wasn't at all comfortable with everything so nice. It was a little better after he deliberately mussed the pillows on the bed, just so they wouldn't be straight. He could imagine the chambermaids coming through with a level to make the beds up. If he hadn't had a cup of coffee in his hand, he didn't think he'd be as calm as he managed.

 

"What are you looking for?" The Spy asked him, businesslike and brisk as he settled himself on the foot of the bed, his legs crossing.

 

The Sniper shrugged. "I like to be in charge. And I like to get fucked. Hard to find someone to give you both, you know?"

 

"Believe me, I know how hard it is to find the right partner." He nodded, chuckling warmly. "Tell me what you do not want. What I mustn't do, if I am to have you. Those rules are the most important, for me."

 

"I don't want this turning into a pissing match."

 

"No, nor I."

 

He snorted. "You know what I mean. If you get off on pretending you want to get away, then I'll pin you down and let you struggle for fun. Hell, I don't mind a good wrestling match. But it's for fun, and we both gotta know I'm coming out on top. I don't put up with this bullshit of blokes coming up and saying yeah, yeah, course they'll do what I say and then when I say 'fuck me', thinking the tables can turn. You don't pull my hair, you don't call me cute names, you don't change the pace I set and tell me to take it."

 

"Agreed. I am not interested in dominating you-- off the field, anyway. What will I call you? Is there a name you use with men you pick up, or will Sniper do?"

 

"Sniper's fine. 'S what you know me by. How about you? What don't I get to do?"

 

"Just know that if I warn you to stop something, and my voice is serious, it is for your safety, not for mine. You know what it is like to hone a survival instinct-- I can separate play from survival well enough most of the time, but if you push up against something, then you need to back down when I tell you, before it becomes a fight."

 

The Sniper nodded, with a small, wry smile. "I'll try and pay attention, then. No hard feelings if you sock me one in the jaw if I miss the signs, I... I get it. Hell. I get needing to get away, and I get how sudden it comes on sometimes, when you're trying to have a good time. Just avoid the nose and try not to knock my teeth loose? And nothing below the belt?"

 

"I will try not to need to. Shove me off if you need to, also, if the words don't break through fast enough. We can regroup. Have a smoke break and calm down, try again. I don't... I don't want it to be like that." He sighed. "We walk around damaged. It can be hard to bear, when you want tenderness and then it hits you and you strike out blind. And it complicates things to want it rough, the way I do. I want you to shove me down. I want you to pin me. It turns me on, it makes me panic..."

 

"Yeah. Yeah. You want it, but there's rules to make it not real. Make it okay to have this. You know you shouldn't, you get that, that survival instinct. That buzz in the back of your head saying it's not safe. But fuck if it's not the only thing that does the trick some nights."

 

"For tonight, privacy. And I would prefer not to bleed, but bruising is fine. You can spank me, or bite me, and if there are any implements you like, you may run them past me. I will not remove my mask, or my gloves. Not tonight. If this works out, I am open to being a regular fling. We can trust each other in this small capacity, to be good in bed, and to understand certain things that most would not. We can remain professional."

 

"Always. No real implements, nah. I mean... I own stuff. Could be repurposed. But I doubt you want me getting the rope out of my van."

 

"Not if you can get off without it. At least for now."

 

"And I'd rather not paddle your arse with the wooden spoon I use to cook. I've got Vaseline and I've got condoms and that's all I _need_. But I'm interested to see what you've got."

 

The Spy nodded, laying out his new purchases first. The harness, the fishnet stockings, and three different pairs of panties. After that, he unpacked one of the bags he'd brought, lining up a few fairly standard sex toys in different sizes and levels of firmness, and after a moment's deliberation, a black leather cock ring and a small leather paddle.

 

"I don't offer the use of these to just anyone." He smiled, twirling the ring on one finger. "But... we do have an understanding."

 

"How hard do you like it?" The Sniper asked, moving to pick up the paddle, to test its weight in his hand.

 

"You can take me to... that color." The Spy tapped the Sniper's sunburnt nose with a little laugh. "I may allow for a harder session another time. But tonight we are still learning each other."

 

"Right." He smacked it into his palm, turned it over a few times just to admire how it was made. "You go in for the expensive toys, don't you?"

 

"I can afford to, from time to time. And I like having nice things. They aren't all, but I certainly don't go for less than the very best when it comes to leather."

 

"Like leather?"

 

The Spy nodded, smile going sultry. "I love it. On myself and on my men. The scent of it. How it feels sometimes, to bite down on a strap of it and feel it give just slightly to your teeth. The versatility-- how sharp the sting of a toy like that one can be, how butter soft the touch of a glove is... An old jacket that has seen a lot of wear, and the way it lends a hardworking sensibility or a touch of danger. A pair of freshly polished Italian shoes that speak to a different kind of man and a different kind of worldliness... Leather says a lot of things."

 

"Good. I like leather. You like these?" He lifted up one of the pairs of panties-- nylon panels, half satiny and half mesh, in pale blue-- letting it slide back off of his finger to pool between the others.

 

"I don't know, yet. But they had them with the stockings. And I thought I would be willing to experiment."

 

"Maybe, then." The Sniper nodded. He picked up both other pairs, to give them equal consideration. One, the whole back side of it covered in silky ruffles, peach pink. The other white cotton and lace, and he'd call it the most innocent of the three if it wasn't for the fact it had the most scandalous cut.

 

If he took the Spy to a club, then yes. Any one of them underneath his suit, just waiting to be exposed to the crowds. The thrill of it even if he never got the nerve, of being able to threaten that he might... to be able to threaten to make the Spy hard in the middle of a bar full of big men in leather and to put him on display. It would be a rush even if they agreed beforehand that it wouldn't happen.

 

It was a big if. They would both want to be sure of all the exits, and he would need to be on alert if the Spy was going to agree to play the pet in public. A bathhouse might be better, might be a good reward more than a chance for public sex. He knew it went on, and it was fine if he was in the city and desperate to get off, but it wasn't satisfying, it wasn't what he was negotiating with the Spy, it was just chance encounters. But if he could take Spy to one where the atmosphere was a little more relaxed, still friendly, but not all about the sex... 

 

Not as a date, no. This was a release valve, and they were professionals. Distance was important. But if he was a good boy, well, he'd deserve a reward. And that brought other questions to mind.

 

"Do you fall apart after?"

 

"Sometimes. Not every time. Normally I do not trust that it will be safe to, so I don't let go."

 

"That's no good. Nah, you need to, you do. You know what you need, if you do?"

 

"Time." He shrugged. "Sleep. Deep sleep. Don't let anyone murder me while I do? I can shower when I'm awake, I won't make you clean up after me. You are welcome to use the bathroom here, while I'm awake enough to protect myself, before I feel like showering. If I don't perk up after a nap, then order up some food on my tab. Enough for us both. What about you?"

 

"Depends on how vigorous it gets. If it's a workout I might need something. Bite to eat, little rubdown for anything sore."

 

"I'm very good at rubdowns." The Spy promised.

 

The Sniper nodded, and spent another long moment in silence, contemplating what he wanted to do with the Spy immediately, and what he might want to do with him later, if everything went well. If they needed something more than just the immediate release.

 

"Put on the harness and the stockings." He said at last. "Don't bother with the knickers just now, I'm going to want 'em off so I can get at that arse with the paddle. Just a light one to put you in your place for me, yeah? Does that sound good to you?"

 

The Spy nodded, pupils dilating. "That sounds very good to me. Just to... teach me a little lesson, about who is boss."

 

"If you're a good boy for your spanking, then you can lie back and I'll put that ring on you, keep you hard for as long as I want to ride you. Or maybe I'll get on my hands and knees, ask you to take me from behind. You're pretty good at coming up behind me." He snorted. "Sticking things in me."

 

"I think I'll like this better."

 

"I think you will."

 

The Sniper sat, watching the Spy undress. He watched him slip into the stockings and roll them up his legs. They always looked so skinny, in the pinstriped and close-fitting trousers, but he had some muscle to his calves, lean as it was, and to his thighs. His skin looked pale, even paler beneath the black net somehow, and there was something about the way his leg hair stuck up through the netting that was perfect, that captured the Sniper's interest much more firmly than the smooth legs of the boy at the leather goods booth.

 

He helped the Spy with the harness, and then sat again, using the ring at the front to tug the Spy to stand between his spread legs.

 

"Let me look at you." He grinned, cupping the Spy's balls. He kept hold of the ring on the harness as he felt him up with little touches that moved from playing with his cock and balls to squeezing his ass, to stroking his thigh. The Spy held still, with his hands clasped behind his back and his gaze unfocused, over the Sniper's head. His stance was almost military, as if he was standing at ease and waiting for orders.

 

Which was true, in a way. He had to wonder if the Spy had actual military experience, or if he was merely used to taking up the position for partners. He couldn't ask-- if he asked about the Spy's past, then his own would be up for discussion, and that was a path they couldn't go down.

 

"Good." The Sniper nodded, guiding the Spy to take a step back so that he could stand. "I can work with this. Get on the bed, face down. I'll flip you over when I'm good and ready to."

 

The Spy obliged. There was still a frisson of danger, at being face-down, at having someone above and behind him... but the Sniper wasn't one to kill him from behind, the Sniper was surprisingly keen on face to face confrontation for a man in his line of work. If he was in danger, it wouldn't have anything to do with having his back turned. And they did have an understanding.

 

The Sniper's hands traveled over him first, all along his back, along the backs of his thighs. After a few squeezes and one openhanded smack, he felt the first smack of the paddle. In the position he was in, it didn't come close to the kind of pain he was used to, but he liked that. Another time, it could hurt. He wanted another time. He also wanted to be able to sit down to dinner in a nice restaurant at some point, and the fact that it was merely a gentle warming-up with just a little sting to it was a good thing with that in mind.

 

"You like that?" The Sniper asked, leaning forward to hiss in his ear.

 

"Mm, I made the right choice giving you that paddle." He purred, flinching at a harder swat. It did nothing to dim his wide smile.

 

"A simple 'yes''ll do, Spook." The Sniper growled.

 

"Yes..." The Spy sighed, with a little wriggle.

 

"That's better."

 

The paddling went on a little while longer, the Sniper stopping when the wriggling and the soft noises really picked up, and the Spy's backside looked about sunburn-pink. He moved back enough to give the Spy the room to roll over. 

 

"Turn." He ordered, and the Spy did, flopping onto the other side of the bed and wriggling one more time as he found a comfortable spot against cool sheets. He'd brought the condoms and petroleum jelly up from his van, and he gave the Spy a couple firm strokes before getting the cock ring in place, following it up with the condom and enough lubrication. "Watch, don't touch."

 

The Spy nodded and slipped his hands under himself, watching with naked interest as the Sniper stripped and prepped himself. 'Don't touch' felt like a taller order every moment, and he had a view to die for of it all. He could imagine the heat, the tightness of those muscles clamping down on his invading fingers if only he could be allowed to slide in, to stretch the Sniper wide. To tease his opening, to stroke along the perineum, to find his prostate... If he could just do any part of readying the Sniper to be fucked, to have a little preview of what the man's body would feel like on his cock. Instead he could only imagine, as the Sniper took his time.

 

He was achingly hard, and normally the long wait with no attention might have him flagging even with a show, but with the cock ring in place he was very aware of the trapped blood pulsing in his cock with nowhere else to go. He was very aware of the Sniper's long fingers, thicker than his own, and how they must feel pushing into the man's body. How they might feel pushing into his.

 

Another time, he thought, he would ask for that. If there was another time. He was even more convinced there ought to be. They were both capable of professional detachment, if anyone was. So far they seemed sexually compatible. He didn't mind if the Sniper was a die-hard bottom, if the Sniper never wanted to top him. He had toys for that, whenever he had the itch, and he was hardly going to complain about the position he was in. He just had to know what it would feel like to be fingered open by the man. In preparation for a plug, perhaps. Even just to tease him. He wanted those clever hands he was watching to do everything to him. The skills they possessed, the power they so often held over life and death... to know how deadly those hands were and to feel them all over his body while he lay there or knelt at his most vulnerable, that would be an experience worth having. And worth repeating.

 

The Sniper looked back down at him, cool and measuring, still finger-fucking himself. "All right, you want to be good for me?"

 

"Yes." The Spy nodded. A simple yes would do, he'd been told that. He didn't even add the 'desperately' he so wanted to.

 

"Get a hand on yourself and hold it still for me." Sniper ordered, and the Spy did, helping to guide his cock in as the Sniper straddled him and began to lower himself.

 

It was good. It was so good to feel anything after his cock had been teased hard and then neglected. He knew it couldn't have been for as long as it felt like, but it made a difference. The wait tipped him over, to a place where being given any pleasure threatened to overwhelm. It was the point of it all, to be overwhelmed, and to rely on someone else. He let out a choked sound as the Sniper slid lower, felt the other man's reverberating groan.

 

He would need to find a way to get the Sniper in a more talkative mood... it was such a shame to let a voice like his go to waste. Every grunt and every pained sound from every fight they might have in future was going to turn to sex in his ears, he knew, and it might make his job a little harder, but he was a professional. They both were. They would deal with it.

 

The Sniper reached back, to coax him to bend his knees, bringing his legs up to offer a little more support, and the Spy obliged, moaning as he found himself buried to the hilt in the Sniper-- good enough even before the man rocked his hips _just_ so, and he was magnificent to watch with his head thrown back.

 

"Okay..." The Sniper grunted, between huffs of breath. He leaned forward again, changing the angle at which he rode the Spy, one hand braced on the bed, the other hanging onto the ring at the front of the harness. "Okay, okay, that's a good boy... you wanna make this even better?"

 

"Oui."

 

The Sniper took his hand off the ring long enough to deliver a hard tweak to one nipple. "I don't speak French."

 

There was not a doubt in the Spy's mind that the Sniper knew enough French-- that he certainly knew 'yes' and 'no', and given his own globe-spanning career and French teammate, probably knew enough to get by. 

 

The confidence he had in that knowledge didn't matter. The Sniper's implicit order did.

 

"Yes." He nodded. "I'm sorry."

 

"Better." The Sniper lifted himself up, brought himself down. "Fuck... give it a tug, then, getting closer. Just need some more."

 

The Spy licked his palm first and wrapped his gloved hand around the Sniper's cock, watching the man rock back and forth between his own cock and his hand. Fucking himself on the Spy and then fucking into his grip, and absolutely beautiful with his muscles straining and a sweat beading on his skin.

 

It was the Spy who came first, with a ragged sob. It was something he felt everywhere, electric, but his cock wouldn't go down after, and there was no escaping the Sniper still riding him, no escaping the intensity of feeling, and the sense that he still needed to come, to really come, to be done. An incomplete orgasm that left him with the burning need to finish. He'd never come wearing it before, and it was a strange sensation, one he wasn't sure if he liked or not, to feel he'd come halfway and gotten stuck.

 

The Sniper came across the Spy's hand, and across his belly, and while he pushed that hand away from his slowly softening cock, he didn't stop riding him, not until the Spy let out a broken whimper, writhed and shook his head and pleaded.

 

In French, but the Sniper didn't need to chastise him for it that time. He reached down, to unfasten the snap on the leather ring, to let the Spy finish and soften. He lifted off after, to collapse onto the bed beside the other man.

 

"Good for me." He sighed, reaching over to play with the O ring on the front of the harness. Not like the tugs of before, just a gentle toying-with, his smile softly satisfied.

 

"For me also." The Spy nodded, between gulps of air. "Fuck."

 

"Yeah."

 

"So... which one of us will be able to sit on a park bench first, do you think?" He chuckled, feeling lightheaded and ready to give into the urge to float. To drift in space on the bed until he slept, as long as the Sniper was watching his back this once.

 

"You will. I've got no arse, I can't sit on a park bench even when I haven't been fucked." The Sniper laughed. "I want red meat... 'n a beer."

 

"Sounds good." The Spy groaned, in no mood to be picky about what he drank. Water would be better, he knew, but he wasn't close to dehydrated after such a short session, and being so far from the desert. He slid an arm around the Sniper while he listened to the man dial down to order food up, and the Sniper allowed it, until he had to pull his jeans on, to be ready to get the door.

 

He covered the Spy up with the other side of the bedspread when the knock came, though one fishnet-clad foot stuck out, dangling over the edge of the bed. It shouldn't have been cute, and kind of was. They ate in bed, the Spy sleepily talking about food in the city, about all the places the Sniper needed to try. It felt like a safe topic, and it was safer if he closed his eyes, if he didn't meet the Sniper's gaze with warmth and affection. 

 

"We should go to a bathhouse." The Sniper said, interrupting a slightly rambling monologue on risotto. "Tomorrow morning, yeah? I'll take you to a nice one, as a... Because you were good, okay? Look at the eye candy a little, have a steam, relax a bit. You ever go?"

 

"Not in years. Not here. How have I never...?" The Spy laughed, and tugged at his mask. "Ah, but it will have to be without all of this."

 

"Sorry. Didn't think."

 

"No, no... I'll go. I know what the scar on your ass looks like, so I've got something on you to keep you quiet about my face."

 

"Right." He grinned. "So you wanna?"

 

"I do. It's been too long. I'll give you a massage there."

 

"I'll meet you down in front of the hotel around ten and we'll go? You'll have to come up to me, if I don't recognize you with a face."

 

"Meet...?" The Spy blinked.

 

"Oh. Yeah. Well, wasn't gonna spend the night here. Once you were with it, figured I'd be sleeping in my camper."

 

"Oh. Yes. Of course. No, that's best. To keep from getting attached."

 

"Yeah."

 

"Tomorrow night, I am taking a friend out to dinner. I was thinking I might reserve that private dining room I told you about. But I will be inviting her gentleman along with us. And a table for four is a little cozier than a table for three." He offered anyway. "So if you are treating me to a little relaxation, then maybe we will both go down and enjoy the city a while, go our separate ways... but I might thank you with a good dinner."

 

"Thought that was what this was." The Sniper indicated his empty plate.

 

"Mm. Either way."

 

"I don't want to cramp your visit with your friend. Especially not when we can't answer any questions about how we know each other." He shook his head. "Might come up to the city some other time, though. Might run into you then. Might have a different answer about dinner, and you might have a different answer about going 'round the clubs. We'll have to find out."

 

"We'll have to." The Spy agreed, settling down. "Wake me in an hour... you can be on duty that long?"

 

"Yeah. You take an hour." The Sniper smiled.

 

He spent ninety minutes letting the Spy sleep, and more minutes than he'd admit to watching.

 


	6. Bar Hopping Across the Universe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tavish tries to take Jane out for a good time. Things don't go to plan... but plans are flexible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Tavish and Jane are not exactly a couple, but not exactly not-a-couple, and Tavish seeks (and gets) permission to have sex with someone else, and then isn't entirely sure if he really wants to.
> 
> Some sexual surrogacy negotiated and acted upon, basically, and then planned out better for next time. So if that would bother you, skip this chapter.

"I'm going to have to talk to our Engineer about resetting all the respawn data." Tavish sighed, prodding the corner of the bandage on his arm thoughtfully. The tattoo underneath was going to be just beautiful once it healed... provided he didn't go and get it erased his first day back on the job. But with everyone taking a long weekend off, he figured he could make the case, and the Engineer wouldn't want him to lose his tattoo! He'd even got his first one fixed, where the original artist had done a poor job on it. "You'll have to talk to yours."

 

"Yeah I will!" Jane agreed, with an enthusiastic nod. He'd demanded the most patriotic tattoo he could envision-- a bald eagle dressed like Lady Liberty riding a falling fat boy bomb with 'USA' emblazoned upon it and a flag waving behind. It had taken half the day, but he'd insisted on 'just getting it over with', in the chair next to Tavish', and he had never felt better. Pain was weakness leaving the body, so he was certain by the time it was done he had absolutely no weakness left.

 

After eating at a taco truck, and comparing it to the food back in New Mexico, they'd set off to find a bar, and Tavish had already steered them quickly out of the first one they'd walked into, when the first thing he'd seen had been a very public fisting. Jane hadn't reacted, and he could only trust the other man hadn't seen.

 

The second place looked promising from the outside, but he could tell from the first sniff of the air when they walked in that they'd be looking at sex, drugs, and possibly watersports, and there was no way he could hide all three of those things from Jane so that the man could have a good time.

 

'The Stud' was, surprisingly, a hippie hangout, and they wandered back out with a groan.

 

"It's okay." Jane patted his un-inked shoulder carefully. "You can't win 'em all. This is a godless hippie kind of a town, Tav."

 

"I just want a place where we can both relax. Without getting arrested for punching hippies."

 

"I could try not punching them. But I WILL tell them to get jobs and haircuts!"

 

Tavish laughed and slung an arm around Jane. "No, we'll find a good low-key kind of a place. A real men kind of a place."

 

Jane nodded, and Tavish' smile fell slowly as they headed up the street towards the next sign.

 

"Hey... You... You know what you mean to me, laddie. And you know if you asked me not to, I wouldn't look for any other company, man or woman. And I know what you're like, and... and you don't get all the same urges. And sometimes it's fun picking up dates anyway and other times you'd rather just the two of us do something... I just--" He gestured, frustrated. "I'd never complain about a night you and I spend together, no matter what we're doing. And if you wanted me to yourself, well... I'd never say no to that. But I'm just a man, see."

 

"Tavish." Jane clapped his hand down on the same shoulder again, expression serious. "Just because you are sometimes a slave to biological urges, I do not consider you a lesser man. Not everyone can be purely dedicated to God and country! If everyone was, Medic tells me we would have a huge population crisis!"

 

"Thanks." He chuckled. "I... Y' mean the world to me, that's all. And I'd hate you thinking I was blowing you off for... biological urges. Y'know what I mean, about you meaning the world to me?"

 

Jane nodded. "We have a bond that no explosion could sever. The kind MEN have! With blood and sweat and serious feelings."

 

"Aye, that kind. And... the kind where, I wouldn't want to... I wouldn't want to... You're not like a brother to me. Or a friend. Or a lover, either. You're not like anything else. But I still wouldn't feel right if I didn't ask you how you felt, if I got off with someone else."

 

He shrugged. "If it's just that. I mean-- you're not talking about taking someone else to a gun show."

 

"No. Never that." Tavish laughed. "Never anything like that."

 

"Okay. If it's just sex, then you should do that, when you need to. But... Look, Tavish-- Men can kiss, can't they? When they have manly bonds with explosions and blood and sweat?"

 

"Sometimes even when they don't." He snorted.

 

"Okay, well then don't do that with anybody else, either."

 

"All right. Deal." He grinned, steering Jane into the next bar. There was a lot of leather, and a lot of denim, and he could hear creaking and the odd grunt from rooms upstairs, just in the brief moment between songs on the jukebox, but down around the bar there was nothing too questionable.

 

"Ooh. That guy's a cowboy." Jane nodded approvingly. "I see dogtags... no hippies in sight. Yes. This bar is one hundred percent American."

 

"If you say so." He grabbed a couple of stools. He couldn't remember if he'd been told not to drink after the tattoo, or for how long. He couldn't remember if he'd been told not to drink after his first one, but he was sure he had. He was already planning out his third and he was pretty confident he'd be drinking after that, too, but away from the field, he didn't feel the same urge to get blackout drunk. Just to have a little tipple, because he was with Jane, and a beer in a nice bar was fun.

 

And even with permission to fuck around, he didn't think he could do it sober. Not completely sober. He needed someone's touch-- a man, preferably. His last few goes had been with women. Wonderful women, but he missed being with another man, he wouldn't get the choice to be with another man back in Badwater or Teufort, and with permission and a little social lubrication, he could handle sleeping with a stranger from a bar just fine. He just couldn't bear asking Jane to do something he wouldn't like.

 

He loved the man, and of all the words that existed, the romantic ones were the closest to what he felt, and to what he was sure Jane did feel for him, even if he couldn't frame it that way, express it that way. But he also knew Jane wasn't going to want any kind of sex, man or woman-- or even him. He couldn't take it personally, and he couldn't hold it against the man. It was the way he was built. He was warm and cuddly after a night of drinking, when they had long conversations they wouldn't remember come morning, and he wasn't shy about nudity, not between men. Sex just never entered his mind.

 

It hadn't bothered Tavish to sleep around at first, but as time went on, the relationship they had felt less like a friendship and more like something else. Something where they at least needed to have a conversation about what would and wouldn't be considered faithful. He'd been worried that Jane would laugh and push him back, say 'whoa, pal, it's not like we're married', but he hadn't. He'd just told Tavish what he did and didn't think was okay.

 

Sex was okay.

 

Tavish was still having trouble processing that one.

 

"I'm surprised," Jane said, cutting through Tavish' thoughts and pulling him back to the bar, where they'd just been served two beers that Jane must have ordered. "I mean, with all that stuff we were looking at today. Don't get me wrong, I had a great time just with the military surplus, but I was looking around at some of the other stuff, and I just figured you could've bought things to completely refurbish your dungeon."

 

Tavish spat out his first swig of beer. "My-- what's that?"

 

"Well, you know. You've got a castle."

 

"Jane. I live in America now and you've seen my place."

 

"Yeah. Yeah, you've got one of those New Mexico castles. But it's still a castle. You're still, you know..." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "Scottish."

 

"Yes, I'm still Scottish. It's not a dirty secret." He rolled his eyes. "You've been in my house, what makes you think I've got a dungeon there I haven't shown you?"

 

"Well I didn't go down into the basement. That's where dungeons go." The Soldier gestured expansively, sloshing beer out onto the floor-- nearly onto one of the other patrons.

 

"You've got a dungeon?" An interested party sidled up to him.

 

"No-- No, I don't have a dungeon."

 

"Ah." Jane nodded. "They forgot to put one in when they built the castle. See, you should have bought dungeon stuff, we could have put it together over the weekend some time!"

 

"Castle?" The stranger's brow furrowed.

 

"It's just a big house, really. With no dungeon."

 

The man nodded and wandered off, and Tavish watched his retreat wistfully. He didn't need his own dungeon-- it wouldn't do him any good picking up men in the city anyway, with the mansion all the way out in the New Mexico desert. Still, he wasn't a bad looking stranger... a little young, but not short on muscle, clean without being too clean. And the look he'd had over the thought of a private dungeon had been promising-- or would have been, if that dungeon existed.

 

He settled on looking around with no intention of touching, for the hour or so it took for Jane to get drunk to the point of wobbling.

 

"Think y' can make it back tae th'otel?"

 

"Why, are they clothing down? Closing. Clooosing. Are they not anymore giving us beer? What about tequila?"

 

"I can get you a room upstairs." The bartender chuckled, looking them over. "You can stay a couple nights if you want a pass."

 

"Just the one night." Tavish held up a finger. "Ta."

 

The room wasn't much, when they poured themselves up the stairs and into it, but Jane was immediately comfortable with the cot provided, flopping down face-first, boots on and all.

 

Tavish left after a while, when it was clear Jane would be snoring uninterrupted for the rest of the night, heading in the direction of what sounded like an orgy.

 

Curiosity, he told himself, but he wasn't going to get involved if it looked more like an engineering problem than a sex act. Three in a bed he thought he could do, but it took some degree of sobriety to arrange too many bodies together...

 

The labyrynth he encountered was, in light of that, a pleasant surprise. It seemed to have been constructed in order to fit as many glory holes as possible into one room, and that he was comfortable with. No conversation and definitely no kissing, no face that wasn't Jane's, no arms around him that weren't familiar... It wasn't the best sex he could think of, but all things considered, it was something he could live with.

 

He gave himself a couple of strokes and slipped it through, and the waiting was awkward, but he could hear others, around corners and on the other side of the plywood board with its duct tape-rimmed hole, and the wait wasn't a very long one before there was a mouth on him, enthusiastic and skilled, and he could _imagine_ things that were never going to be real, he didn't think there was any harm in that.

 

It didn't take him long to realize that he couldn't imagine it was Jane on the other side. No, Jane wouldn't be good at it like that, he'd be unpracticed and he'd say 'just this once', and he'd interrupt it all to talk, or to kiss. He could imagine Jane on his side of the wall, with a hand on his back, warm and broad and strong. He could imagine Jane's voice in his ear while a stranger sucked him off, telling him that it was all right to fill his needs where he had to, that it didn't make what they had less real or less important. It didn't make what they had less loving. Telling him other things, sweet ones. Maybe even telling him a few sexy things, even if they were in Jane's own way, even prefaced with Jane's inability to _want_ these things, to really understand want. But he would say that if he was a sexual man, then by hell, he'd be a sexual man for Tavish, for the glimpses of cock and for the grunts and the sweat rolling down the back of his neck, for his own unbusy lips. And Tavish would know what he meant by it, that he wasn't ever going to want these things, and that he wasn't sorry he didn't want them, but that _that_ didn't make what they had any less loving, either.

 

Tavish didn't picture Jane on the other side of the wall, but it was still Jane he was thinking of when he came, stars behind his eyes.

 

He dragged himself back to the room they'd taken for the night, to sleep on his side next to Jane's cot. He didn't know whether to feel guilty or not, but in the morning, when Jane's snoring ended with a loud snort, a hand reached down to find his cheek.

 

"Morning." Jane said, as quietly as he was capable. "Do you want to go find breakfast?"

 

"Aye. Breakfast sounds dandy. Jane... it's all right, if I was with someone last night a little?"

 

"Just for sex?"

 

"Just for sex." He nodded.

 

"Of course. Let's find a place that does bacon."

 

"So that's it?"

 

He thought about it a long moment, then shrugged. "Do you want to brag about her? Because I don't mind if you really do."

 

"No. It-- I was thinking about you. Not about you sucking me off. But about you being there while it happened." Tavish snorted, shaking his head. "Just to talk. Stupid, but it made it better."

 

"Well I could do that."

 

"All right. Next time I get a real itch I can't scratch alone, why don't we go together? And you can just... be there to talk. If it wouldn't bother you to see that kind of thing."

 

"Tavish, I didn't want to tell you this, but in the first bar we tried to go to, I definitely saw sex happening. Weird sex-- I think. I'm not sure. It all seems weird to me. I thought I should probably make sure we got out of there before you turned your head far enough to see it. Just in case it was as weird as I thought. But I am made of sterner stuff than you seem to think, pal, if you think I can't have a conversation just because you'll be having sex. I will converse for both of us if you get distracted!"

 

Tavish laughed, long and loud. "Good. Good. Next time we'll do that. I bet we can find bacon."

 

They pulled each other up, and into a careful hug, each mindful of the other's recent ink, and Tavish kissed Jane's cheek.

 

"Saved that for you." He smiled, and smiled harder when the gesture was returned.


	7. A Fair Farewell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which all the mercenaries wrap up their long weekend and bid San Francisco au revoir, after a little more fun all around.

"It was kind of fun, though." Scout said, unprompted.

 

He didn't really need to clarify, the Pyro knew what he meant. She nodded, and stared down the hill towards the bay.

 

"Next time we're stationed close enough and they give us a weekend we oughta. I mean, not the freak fair. I guess it wouldn't be-- I guess that's not all the time or nothing."

 

"You liked the 'freak fair'." She accused, laughing.

 

Scout rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. He didn't think he was like that-- whatever 'that' was-- exactly, but he had liked it. He'd liked the fun of it, he'd liked flirting with women who could and would kick his ass, maybe a little more than he was ready to think about, because he never would have called any of them his type before. The closest thing he could think of to imagining that kind of a woman before this trip was maybe spanking it to Bettie Page and that was because he'd found a bunch of pictures stuffed under his oldest brother's mattress and you took what you could get and in as little time as you could possibly take. If any one of his brothers had had porn, then that was His Type for as long as he had his hands on it, no matter what.

 

He'd met girls, women, who could have broken him in half without thinking about it, just wandering around, and he always thought he wanted a cheerleader type or maybe a sexy librarian, definitely a sexy librarian, a little older and real prim and everything up until the glasses came off and the hair came down, and neither of those things even had to happen. He'd liked Miss Pauling so much because she could've been that type, he thought. All proper and professional. Except sometimes Miss Pauling gave off this vibe that said she _definitely_ knew how to kill a man, and she never paid attention to him, like he was so far beneath her notice it would be a real fucking favor for her to do anything for him and he'd need to _earn_ it.

 

That should've been frustrating, except having to earn it was like a challenge, and he liked a challenge. And he didn't lose, either, even if the only thing at stake was being able to say he'd done it.

 

Whatever 'it' was.

 

He glanced over at Pyro, and admitted to a little part of himself that she was definitely capable of kicking his ass, and even if she'd only been there for business she was just so damn nonchalant about it all that maybe she did know a bunch of kinky stuff and maybe he _was_ interested in all of it. Maybe even if it hurt, because hurt wasn't anything he couldn't handle. It was a little weird to think about, about what her body was like under all the layers he always saw her in and the fact that she _was_ a woman, with all the wonders and complexities that came with, and that when he was thinking about her like that, he was still thinking about her as a teammate and he was so used to thinking of his teammates as another group of brothers-- better brothers, closer brothers, than the ones he'd been born into. And maybe it had always been weird to think of her as a brother, weirder than thinking of her as a girl. One who could kick his ass if he needed it and say sweet things too, after everything, if he needed that. One who could sit next to him and watch a strange city that he wanted to learn better, and not say much, and have that be okay.

 

He slumped forward with a sigh and tried to shove all those thoughts back into the box they came from, because he didn't want her kicking his ass in some not-fun way if he said any of it out loud the wrong way. He wasn't even sure there _was_ a right way, but he was pretty sure he wouldn't find it on his first ten tries if there was.

 

\---/-/---

 

In their actual hotel room, far from the little room above a dark bar, Jane and Tavish sprawled across each other.

 

"We should pack." Jane said. It was the fifth time he'd made the suggestion since arriving back in the room after breakfast, and he was no more inclined to get up and do it than the four previous times. Normally he liked to get things done, even on the tail end of an extra-long weekend, but the view out their window was pleasant, patchy grey-blue skies and old buildings in a jumble of styles... And he was lying on his best friend's bed. On his best friend, more accurately. It was comfortable, and warm, and they'd finally come to an agreement about how much kissing men were allowed to do, providing they had a special bond.

 

It turned out it was a lot, and it was nicer than he'd anticipated. Gentle and not all wet, and interspersed with little touches that never strayed into uncomfortable areas, and with the smile that made him feel weird, in the pit of his stomach, in a manly kind of way. Proud of the fact that his best friend-- was there a better term for it than that, that he was missing?-- was objectively very handsome, and very knowledgeable about ballistics and explosions, and great at roughhousing.

 

Great at a lot of things, and Jane thought he deserved more, and better. He knew it was kind of silly to say that, when Tavish already lived in what really did seem a lot like a castle. One of those modern ones, anyway. When he was rich and good-looking and smart, what did he not have and what could he not just get for himself?

 

There was one thing, actually, and Jane was grateful for that. Glad he knew one thing that Tavish didn't have, and that he'd been able to find at that open air market deal with all the godless hippie biker gangs.

 

"We should pack." He said again, picking up a bag. "This needs to go in your suitcase. It is a present and I don't want to hear any guff about it, pal. You're going to accept it and like it!"

 

Tavish laughed, and pulled him in for another kiss, tender and lingering on his cheek. "All right, then, no guff from me. Thank y--"

 

He stopped, lifting the boots out and turning them over in his hands. They weren't newfangled as the ones from Mann co. had been, the ones that had very nearly broken up the thing they had before it could become everything it was, no. According to the tag, they were British surplus from the nineteen-fifties.

 

"Thank you." He said, more firmly. His voice felt a little thick, and he was grateful for the hand that squeezed his a little too tight, and the smile aimed his way. "They're beautiful."

 

\---/-/---

 

While checking in their clothes at the bathhouse, the Sniper turned around when he saw the Spy try to melt out of sight suddenly, and turned to hide his face as well with a muttered oath.

 

"Last thing I want's to talk shop right now. Or to get a lecture on the clap, bloody hell what is he doing here?" He hissed.

 

"You didn't see him at Folsom?" The Spy whispered, eyebrows arching.

 

The Heavy and Medic passed them by, utterly oblivious, the Medic cooing something in a soft, low tone and the Heavy smiling and taking his arm.

 

"C'mon." The Sniper jerked his head. "This way."

 

They headed the other direction, out onto a little enclosed patio, empty save for one lounging sunbather.

 

The Spy gave the stranger a suspicious look, but the Sniper only chuckled.

 

"Sun'd do you some good, even out those awful tan lines." He shook his head, reaching forward to ruffle the unmasked Spy's hair.

 

It had been odd to see him without it, and he knew his life was probably forfeit somehow if he said anything to anyone, or the man would track his family down in retaliation, or something. It should have bothered him, but it didn't. He had no intention of spilling the man's secrets. It seemed the better deal to be trustworthy, be someone the Spy could see coming back to, just for sex. For a little fun and games when the itch got to either of them. There wasn't much sense going on the prowl for someone who might not work out when they both knew they worked together. They understood each other in a way not many could, even being enemies.

 

Especially being enemies, he thought. There were things your mates couldn't understand, when they didn't work the way you did. The Spy knew how he moved, how to read him... it translated pretty well to the bedroom. Maybe the enemy Sniper would have understood some things a lot better, if they'd run into each other, but he thought it might be weird, to fuck someone who looked and sounded so similar. Eerie. And the Sniper knew what their job was like, but he didn't know his body, how to move with him and around him, that was something you couldn't learn from across the field, not even with the sharpest eye. That was something you learned when you got up close, fought, danced. It was a dance with blades and blood, but the way the Spy moved with him some days, it was a dance just the same.

 

He smiled, when the Spy finally stretched out to sun, relaxing into the spot beside him. After a short while, he reached over to rest a hand on the Spy's abdomen, fingers spreading wide.

 

"Wanna go in for a steam or just nap out here?"

 

"Steam." The Spy sighed, sitting up. He smiled when the Sniper didn't withdraw his hand, merely let it slide down into his lap. "If there is a private room for it, I don't want to have to be on guard, nor should you be-- no more than is nature to us. If the private rooms are simply rooms, well... a simple room is all I really need, if you are in it."

 

The Sniper indulged in a brazenly slow grope, his eyes locked on the Spy's. "Oh? Am I gonna get distracted?"

 

"You are going to get massaged." The Spy stressed. "If you want-- last night's offer still stands."

 

They stayed a moment longer, eyes locked still, and the Spy tilted his head to one side with a small smile.

 

"Maybe you will have me again." He allowed. "I find it a difficult thing, to resist a good looking man who knows what he wants. I was surprised you knew your way around-- you've been here before?"

 

"Just once. Been to the Bondi Junction Steam Baths, back when the place just opened, before that. Those're the only two, though."

 

"Oh? And what did you do there?"

 

"Got a room." He shrugged. "Lay back. Waited for someone to come in and offer."

 

The Spy grinned, oozing to his feet and extending a hand. "I'm sure you weren't waiting long. Nor should you now. I promised you could have me for the weekend, didn't I?"

 

"It's Monday." The Sniper shrugged again, but he accepted the hand up, and reeled the Spy in by it. "Wasn't expecting too much, exactly. Just glad you agreed to come, relax a little, chat maybe."

 

"Ah, but we are not expected back at work. So it counts. A little holiday... A private room for now, but... if you want to go later, to lounge about one of the common areas, for a bite to eat downstairs or to go watch the entertainment... Maybe you can relax me, and I'll go for it."

 

"Oh? You think I might get you in the orgy room?"

 

"I think you cannot share me with just anyone. But I think there is a good deal of middle ground between a private room and an orgy."

 

\---/-/---

 

Sniper was not alone, in being offered a massage, though he and the Spy were more alone in seeking out a private room for it. The Heavy saw no point in privacy. He was perfectly at ease in a public bath, felt it was a relief to find one in the states. He was similarly at ease with the team's locker room and showers, but it wasn't the same. There was no relaxation, and the sense of camaraderie was very different.

 

There was a sense of camaraderie in the big steam room that extended beyond the pick-ups and the hook-ups. Those were there, anonymous offers made and accepted, and men openly eying each other in expectation, but beyond that there was a commonality. A shared experience, even for those who would not have called themselves queer outside of the baths. He liked that.

 

And he liked pampering his Doktor, after the Medic had exhausted himself, had woken up with sore and aching arms and shoulders after a day and night of rigorous beatings, canings, and floggings.

 

He massaged the other man's back and arms with the utmost tenderness, aware of his own strength, and they chatted. Not only with each other, but with the men relaxing around them-- the trio of old men who eyed the young ones with wistful smiles and shakes of the head, and snatches of stories of their own misspent youths, the tall blond who blushed and tried not to stare, and stammered through his every sentence and the friend who finished his thoughts with loud, braying laughs, splay-legged and at ease in the environment. There were men who advertised what exactly they were there for with a bold carnality and there were others who just came because it was someplace to go, and to socialize.

 

And then there was the two of them, on their long weekend away from the war, and the Heavy still had to chuckle at the fact that he needed a weekend away, to get a scar. One of the three older men was a literature professor, and the Medic leaned against the Heavy's thigh and listened to the long talk that spun out of them, and thought it was nice not to be the oldest man there, to know it wasn't solely the territory of young bucks. It was nice, also, to have his Heavy to lean against, to be massaged and pampered by.

 

"I'm glad we came." He sighed, closing his eyes and relaxing further into his pillow of muscle.

 

"Good." Heavy grunted his approval, one finger toying with Medic's forelock. "Is to make Doktor happy."

 

"Oh, you do too much to make me happy. I am not complaining." He folded his hands over his chest with a little sigh. "It is to make you happy as well."

 

\---/-/---

 

The Engineer sighed, everything finally packed up in the back of his truck for the long drive back to base. They had a couple extra days off, but he needed to be back before the rest of the team to make sure all the necessary equipment was up and running. He just wasn't sure when he'd have the time to set up his own pet project. It took up so much of the workshop, and he had to be careful to keep the most unsubtle parts detached and packed away when not in use, just in case he ever got company.

 

"You ready to head on home?" He asked, giving the rope an unnecessary tug. He knew his knotwork was sound.

 

"Mm-hm." The Pyro nodded, shrugging the top half of the boiler suit back on and zipping it up for the drive, pulling the mask down into place.

 

"We'll get it set up when we get the chance. Shame to say goodbye to the vacation so soon, but it don't mean we can't still have fun down in the workshop, on regular weekends."

 

The Pyro shrugged. It wouldn't quite be the same, after the thrill of the fair, of having an audience... but maybe that was a good thing. Maybe it was best to not have that too often, to keep things between them. It was fun, and maybe it would be again next year, but it was possible to burn out on too much thrill.

 

"Tell you what. Next weekend... you pick how I set 'er up." The Engineer offered, opening the passenger side door.

 

The response was definitely positive, even muffled as it was.


End file.
